Dad's Memoirs [with additions from translation of German version]:

On February 12, 1940 we docked at Lissabon. The date is clearly engraved in my mind, because it is my maternal grandmother's birthday and of course Abe Lincoln's - but at that time I was not yet aware of it. Somehow , the date has often been ominous in my life [and somehow it has been a bad day several times in my life]  in spite of my great attachment to grandmother. But just to make it brief the Portuguese immigration officials declared our visas invalid, since they had not been countersigned by the " Political Police," the dictator Salazars henchmen. As a result we were not permitted to enter the country. our old friend and nemesis, the purser, was ready to commit Harakiri, because in Lissabon he had certainly not anticipated any difficulties. We were disappointed, but not crestfallen, as the ship was scheduled to go on to England, and we were willing to let ourselves be interned by the British. Furthermore my parents were then living in London as refugees. Probably we were somewhat naiv or too optimistic considering what we heard later on about treatment of German Jewish refugees by the English. In the meantime, the ship officials negotiated with the Portuguese authorities, and eventually called on the assistance of the resident Japanese ambassador, who immediately took charge of the problem and devoted his energy to its solution. Ordinarily, the Japanese representative in Portugal had few opportunities to show his face except for playing golf, and so he was grateful for this incident. But the day went by without any new developments, and we were convinced that we would proceed to Liverpool, as departure time drew near. But then suddenly, quite a bit after nightfall, a Portuguese official appeared with the happy news that authorities had relented and we were granted permission to go ashore. Transportation awaited us on the dock, and accommodations had been prepared. Of course we had no choice but go with the official who was soon joined by several more. Transportation turned out to be a typical police van, a Black Maria. We remonstrated - but the quite suave officials explained that it was really quite convenient - the van was already here, the hour was late, a taxi would be more expensive, etc. We acquiesced - obviously there was no alternative - and soon found ourselves at our destination, a jail. Again there were explanations - temporary arrangement, all will be rectified in the morning etc. We managed to extract the promise that the two women would indeed be accommodated in a hotel. We were taken into a reception room where we were relieved of valuables and potentially " dangerous " objects which were carefully receipted, and then we passed through gates and grates, keys rattled and doors clanged before we entered a large room which was to be our lodging Have you ever entered a strange room in the dark where numerous persons are already sleeping ? Let me tell you, it is a very eerie experience One lacks all sense of orientation, is totally unfamiliar with the furnishings, the occupants and the facilities, Tied to the wall were sack-like mattresses and blankets. By the light of a lantern we were shown three pallets covered with a thin mattress where we should stretch out for the night The already resting lodgers resented our intrusion with coughs, hisses and shouts of "Quiet 1". of course we were dead tired by then, and without further ado we stretched out and tried to sleep.

I cannot recall the precise number of "lodgers" - somewhere between 25 and thirty. I really wish that I could reconstruct my mental and emotional state - what went through my mind, was I fearful what the next days would bring or was I confident that nothing drastic would befall us. Looking back the whole thing has the makings of some dramatic adventure. But I am certain that I did not entertain any romantic ideas at the time. The strange surroundings, the odd noises and preoccupation with an uncertain future must have kept me awake. but fatigue overcame all other obstacles, and I must have slept because suddenly there was daylight, people moved around and reality returned in some bewildering fashion. [After 54 years, I cannot remember exactly how I stayed the first night. The air, the tones, the semi-dark shadows of so many men hardly contributed to the well-being. An uncertain future gave the room of imagination.] People milled around conversing in an unfamiliar language. Nobody paid attention to us. They seemed all engrossed in one of three activities - 1. Folding the pallets up against the wall, 2. lining up for a turn at the single water faucet and 3. lining up for a turn at one of the two johns. We followed their example, and once in line attempts were made to communicate with us. once again my memory eludes me as to how the first contacts were made and in what language. All I can say at this time is that we communicated in a variety of languages. We soon learnt that our fellow lodgers were no ordinary people. Indeed it appeared that we were probably enjoying the company of some of the best society of the Iberian peninsula. A number of companions were refugees from Spain. The civil war had ended less than a year before, and freedom fighters and other supporters of the republican cause had escaped into neighboring countries, even to Portugal which was certainly not friendly to the republican cause and incarcerated most Spanish refugees and shipped them often to one of Portugal's penal colonies in Angola or the Cape Verde islands. One of our fellow prisoners was the former police chief of Toledo, others were Catalonian patriots, one of whom, an especially charming young man, I befriended. There were quite a few professors from Spanish and Portuguese universities whose teachings displeased Franco and/or Salazar. These people more or less set the tone for our small society, very courteous, verbal and understanding. We also soon discovered that these distinguished gentlemen were not immune to gossip and occasionally wild rumors. But I am getting ahead of my own story. That first morning of captivity we were totally ignorant. We slowly learned name and nature of our abode - it was called "Cadeia do Aljube" and was a prison for political prisoners who were kept here, usually without trial, for varying length of time, often just briefly before being shipped into exile. In any case - we were warned - we should not count on any speedy release.

Around 10 or 11 o'clock there was some commotion at the entrance. @e (guards came in carrying baskets with bread, and a couple of prisoners brought a kettle full of some steaming liquid, called soup. Each prisoner was given a loaf of coarse bread and a bowl of liquid. One told us that the bread was our daily ration, but that we would get another bowl of liquid at about 5 PM , pretty much the same ill defined quality - but then called stew. For some bizarre reason coffee was served around 8 PM - provided the muddy hot liquid we received deserved-- the name. [If you were very frugal, you had at this hour still had a chunk of bread and then you could eat it to celebrate.] It certainly did not interfere with our sleep. We never discovered the reason for this odd custom nor could our fellow captives. It was not a local custom, as we had at first suspected. Unfortunately by the time this beverage arrived we had usually consumed the bread, unless we had been especially economical during the day and could then have a modest celebration with coffee and a small morsel of bread.

The first few days we were interrogated by agents of the political police. My investigator was a Senhor Fonseca who spoke German quite fluently and was an impeccably groomed, suave middle-aged gentleman. It did not take him long to ascertain that we were not on some secret mission or conspiracy - but such insight did not help change our status. Senhor Fonseca never explained, never promised nor threatened. He seemed rather bored by our presence - we certainly did not challenge his investigative skills. He was interested in the progress of our American immigration transaction, gave us permission to visit the U.S. Consulate whenever necessary - of course in the company of a Portuguese plainclothesman. Our conversations were brief, matter-of-fact and devoid of any humor. All I got out of them pretty soon was that there was no chance of an early release. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of SS uniforms in the corridor and also heard some screaming somewhere in the building.

While we three men languished in the Cadeia do Aljube, the two women had found accommodations in some Pension and received a measure of support from the local refugee committee whose chairman was a local physician, Dr. Esaguy - allegedly a somewhat peculiar individual who tended to abuse his position in favor of appealing young women in need of support. I never met him and cannot judge his character. We received some support from a totally unknown party, a couple named Oppenheim [ Oppenheim (er ?)]. If I remember correctly, my parents in London had met some friends of that -family and were able to establish contact with the O.'s through Alice Joseph. The Oppenheims were absolutely delightful and did everything within their power to be of assistance. They were of course themselves German refugees who had lived in Lisbon for some time. Obviously their influence did not go far enough to liberate me - but short of that they made life more tolerable for A.J., and eventually gave me my first guided tour of Lisbon before we finally left for the USA in May. [My friend [Alice Joseph], who of course corresponded with my parents, also got to know them and is supported by them with advice and action. I only met her when I was already on the ship to the USA in the port of Lisbon. They were a lovely couple - but unfortunately I lost contact with them during the war and I don't know anything about their later life.]

After about a week Herr F., one of the two Viennese complained of stomach pain and asked to see a physician. Perhaps I should explain that my acquaintance with the three Austrians was very superficial. [I should explain that I only knew the two men and the one woman superficially. They weren't close friends, and we had only met them through a strange committee in Rome. I never met her again either.] The couple F. were somewhat weird, and under ordinary circumstances we would have never associated with them. But these were not ordinary times. Anyway Mr. F. alleged that he had been afflicted with a peptic ulcer and that the prison food aggravated the symptoms. Arrangements were made to have F. seen by the prison doctor, and I was to accompany him because of language problem and my medical background. [... the doctor only spoke French as a foreign language, F. spoke only German and couldn't explain to the doctor what he was suffering from.]

The physician turned out to be a quite pleasant person who took some interest in our situation. He recommended that Herr F. be moved to the hospital ward and that I accompany him there. I told him that there were three of us and that our companion would be quite lost if we were separated, and Lo and behold - he included him. I began to wonder if this was entirely the doctor's idea. It seemed to me that our "hosts" had some misgivings about us. Somehow we did not really fit into their bureaucratic scheme of things, and so they tried to provide some relief without compromising their rules or losing face. After all, we were neither criminals nor political prisoners in the true sense. The ubiquitous German agents also did not seem interested in our fate. Thus a move to a less severe environment such as a hospital ward might have been a useful solution I regretted leaving our newly acquired friends - but I cannot deny that the ward was a great improvement. [We stayed there for over two months! There were real beds with sheets, pillows and blankets. Of course there were toilets there, etc.] Evidently the infirmary was the showpiece of the prison and was used only sparingly. I cannot recall the number of inmates - but I am sure that there were very few, and the really sick ones stayed only a few days. I do remember an older man from Coimbra, the famous old University town, who helped me learn Portuguese. The infirmary had its own customs and regulations. First of all, we had to wear hospital clothes consisting of [brown] trousers, a long shapeless jacket both made from some rough felt-like material. Under the jacket we wore a yellowish flannel shirt. [We stayed there for over two months! There were real beds with sheets, pillows and blankets. Of course there were toilets there, etc.] The looks of the uniform was revolting - but we welcomed the change because until then we wore the clothes that we had come from the ship in and which by then were dirty and malodorous. Our diet also changed considerably. We received three meals daily, not too badly prepared - but quite monotonous. The menu was identical for the week. our guardian was a fairly hefty man in his mid-thirties by the name of Coelho ( rabbit). He was pleasantly dumb and in charge of everything although he was primarily a practical nurse. Among his many duties he had to watch carefully that we did not introduce any games. I assume that books, games and magazines were proscribed in order to make the sojourn in the infirmary tedious and therefore less attractive. We were permitted to receive mail, mostly postcards, which we cut into rectangles and fashioned into dominoes. An attempt to construct a chess board failed. Otherwise we played pencil and paper games, the favorite being naval engagement. Of course, our crude implements had to be kept hidden under the mattresses.

Since books were not permitted (not even the bible !) my language lessons remained quite rudimentary. Portuguese is not an easy language because it has borrowed from a variety of languages in addition to its basic Latin. My friend Alice sent me letters with vocabulary and basic grammar, and with the help of my pal from Coimbra I managed to make some progress.

Aljube Prison Records

I was led to this file with the help of Ansgar Shaefer[1].  The arrest sheet is publicly avialable. The full prison record I had to request from the Archives.

Notes:

[1] While there is a fair amount of material about Lisbon as a stopping point for exile before and during the war (note that Mom also made it through Portugal!), Chrisa Heinrich appears to have made a career out of this topic. See CV online at U.S. Department of State. Most of interest is that Dad's story makes it to at least one publication (even if just half of a footnote), from which i learned that there was a State Police (PIDE)  file on Dad, which I eventually obtianed. From a book in Portuguese "Portugal e os refugiados judeus provenientes do território alemão (1933-1940)" by Ansgar Shaefer:

"Cf. o caso de Heinz Silbermann, que chegou a Portugal em 12/2/1940 com um visto emitido pelo Consulado de Portugal em Roma para uma estadia de 5 meses. Preso logo à chegada a Lisboa, devido ao documento inválido segundo as normas em vigor, é-lhe, no entanto, prometida a libertação mal apresentasse um visto de um terceiro país. Proc. 194/40, Herman Israel Furnberg, Walter Gottlieb, Heinz Silbermann, Arquivo PIDE /DGS." [Google Translate: "See the case of Heinz Silbermann, who arrived in Portugal on 2/12/1940 with a visa issued by the Consulate of Portugal in Rome for a stay of 5 months. Arrested on arrival in Lisbon, due to the invalid document according to the rules in force, he is, however, promised release as soon as he presented a visa from a third country. Proc. 194/40, Herman Israel Furnberg, Walter Gottlieb, Heinz Silbermann, PIDE / DGS Archive. "]

• "Lisbon Port of Hope"

• Judeus em Portugal durante a II Guerra Mundial LIVRO by Irene Flunser Pimentel

[2] I have been amazed at how the mail kept getting through (which show's up in Mom's story about her transition through Lisbon, too). See card Dad received from his grandfather while in Lisbon, which was mailed to Poste Restante. [Side note: Hermann Fuernberg's papers, including letters sent to him while in Lisbon are available digitally.]

[3]  See Wikipedia article on this organization. The U.S. Holocaust Museum apparaently had microfilm of their records, which I need to visit.

[4] Dad talked about learning Portugese, but it would appear that Walter Gottlieb also learned to write it.